


in her hips, there's revolutions

by cydonic



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roller Derby, Cunnilingus, F/F, Fingerfucking, Mutual Masturbation, Public Sex, Roller Derby, Shower Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 11:30:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3288752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cydonic/pseuds/cydonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>two derby girls meet on the track and sparks fly (aka. roller skates and smut)</p>
            </blockquote>





	in her hips, there's revolutions

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, and written in a fit of inspiration. It's basically porn. Sorry not sorry.
> 
> This fic has a lot of roller derby terminology, I have made it so that when you hover over confusing derby text it should give you a little explanation. 
> 
> Basic roller derby concept: five skaters from each team on the track - four are blockers, one is a jammer. Jammers earn points by lapping opposing blockers. Blockers help their jammer through whilst blocking the opposition jammer. A bout is a game of derby, split into two thirty minute halves. A jam is one round (I guess) of said bout. It goes for two minutes or until ended by the lead jammer (lead jammer = jammer to break out of the pack first). Got it? There are MANY finer points and stuff but as the basic gist there you go. 
> 
> Please consider supporting your local roller derby league! :)

The thing with challenge bouts is that they’re messy. Skaters who’ve never played together are thrown into a team and expected to think of and implement strategies on the fly. They’re definitely a show, although when you’re at Rollercon they’re barely a blip on the radar of most: not when they could be watching top-tier teams fighting it out using strategies they’ve practiced to death and could do in their sleep.

It is, however, a perfect chance for an assortment of derby’s finest skaters to get thrown into a mix and see how they do.

Which is how, amongst other well-known names of derby, Quinnjustice and Barbra Backhand wind up skating against each other. They’re jammers both of them, and skate for opposite teams: Quinn on the black team, representing the east coast, and Barbra in white for the west.

Out of all the challenge bouts of the weekend, this one has been promoted to 60-minute status as it winds up the Sunday evening entertainment. A hefty crowd has formed, consisting both of simple spectators and derby girls with some time to kill (or a teammate to support).

The whistle blows and there’s thirty seconds until the first jam of the bout.

Both girls have the star on.

Quinn smirks as she skates past her opposition: the other girl is crouched in low derby stance, feet staggered one in front of the other resting steadily on her toestops. Quinn, obnoxiously, gets as close as she can to sitting on the other girl without doing so.

Five seconds is called, and then the whistle goes.

Quinn has no trouble navigating the pack, the wall of the opposition offering her a giant hole which she barges through. The two blockers slam shoulders and hips slightly too late - Quinn’s got a leg and shoulder past them, and with some carefully timed hits she opens that gap enough to jump through.

There’s a whistle, and she glances in to catch her jammer ref sweeping her hands low in front of her body, making a cross.

Not lead.

Quinn’s brow draws down sharply in frustration, and then she notices Barbra skating off a few metres ahead of her. The girl is pumping her arms rapidly to keep up speed, however she does take a moment to gloat, waving at a section of the suicide zone as she passes by.

Hopping up onto her toestops, Quinn sprints forward, using the burst of speed to gain on the girl. Then, in a perfectly timed sweep, takes her legs out from under her.

Barbra slams into the ground and slides out, nearly tripping a referee. In a jerky motion that goes from head to hips, Barbra calls the jam off.

As the whistles start up, Quinn transition stops and smiles at the girl. She receives a death stare in response before the shorter brunette is skating back to her bench, long, brunette braid whipping out from underneath her helmet.

Quinn is smirking self-satisfactorily, handing the panty back to her benchie and sitting down on one of the plastic chairs provided.

Through some act of divine intervention, or convenient benching, both Quinn and Barbra end up jamming alongside each other nearly every single time they jam during the first half of the game. The small brunette has such a fire that Quinn can’t help but toy with her, skating backwards when she gets lead just to engage Barbra chest-to-chest, or trying to knock her down and out just as she breaks out of the pack. Quinn is quick to learn, however, that Barbra has a mean counter on her, and is nearly knocked off-balance herself from one particularly solid hit.

The game is fairly even the whole way through the first half. When they change benches at halftime, Quinn picks up her water bottle and skates over, narrowly avoiding a swerve from Barbra. Whilst Quinn is considering that she may have actually upset the other skater, Barbra tosses a smile over her shoulder - a hard, challenging one, but a smile nonetheless.

“Put me on with her.” Quinn mumbles to Santana, their benchie for the day and fellow skater with Quinn’s league.

“Who?” Santana asks, turning to look at the opposite bench. “Fourteen?”

Quinn follows her eyes, then nods. “That’s the one. She’s fun.”

Santana shrugs, tossing the jammer panty Quinn’s way. “Go nuts, I’m sure no one else will fight you for her. Just do me a favour and stop eye-fucking so much on the jammer line, got it?”

Quinn snorts, pulling the cover over the top of her helmet. “Whatever you say, San.”

The second half starts and the crowd has grown, all of them fired up at the close score. Whenever one team puts a few points on the board, they’re met next jam with the same thing from the opposition. It’s a constant tug-of-war between the two of them, Quinn and Barbra especially.

There’s one jam in which Barbra winds up in the box for a back block, and the crowd starts a rousing power jam chant. Santana is waving her hand wildly in a ‘keep skating you bitch’ gesture, and Quinn is determined to do just that.

She skates low to the ground, and puts all her force into driving the opposition blockers forward. Her own blockers, on the other hand, stand to the sides of the track, leaving her with as much room as she wants to get through the white team. Quinn pushes and pushes until a call of “no pack!” comes out, and the blockers are forced to let her through for a sweet five points.

As Quinn rounds the track, she spies Barbra standing up in the box, on the brink of being let out.

“I got your point!” Quinn calls to her as she passes, mimicking the referee signal for five points, hand up and fingers splayed.

Before Barbra has a chance to get back into the pack, Quinn has jumped through a gap in the white blockers and has called the jam off.

Barbra remains on for that next jam, and successfully throws off their pattern of being on at the same time. As Quinn sits on the bench her blockers form their strategy for the next jam, but her mind is solely on the game being played out in front of her.

That Barbra - Quinn has never seen, nor heard of her before. She has no idea what league she comes from, only that she’s playing on the west team. So she’s from the other side of the country - what a great shame. Quinn wouldn’t mind coming up against her again. Her body was a little powerhouse: she had an almost stocky build but she could get so low to the ground she was nearly invisible. One second Barbra was against the inside line, next she was weaving between the legs of the blockers on the outside. It didn’t hurt that her outfit of the day was a white top and a pair of very nice fitting compression tights. Very nice fitting indeed.

Quinn herself dressed in more of stereotypical derby style - the way people envisioned when you said you played the sport. Thigh high socks, torn stockings, and a pair of pink booty shorts that matched her hair almost perfectly. Although many skaters were now opting for the athletic look, Quinn quite liked the vintage derby style. And besides, it gave her a use for all her torn work stockings.

It took a few jams for their pattern to change back so that Quinn and Barbra were jamming at the same time - and the first time they were back out together, Quinn got a penalty of her own. She got to watch Barbra transition and skate past her, waving the whole time.

Bitch.

The next time they saw each other on track, Quinn was wearing the pivot panty so that the newbie jammer could bail if she needed to. Plus, it gave Quinn the perfect opportunity to keep Barbra firmly stuck in the pack. She was bracing with another skater on her team (Maddy? Marley? Something), smirking at Barbra as she moved the younger girl side-to-side.

Barbra never made it out of the pack the entire jam, and Quinn didn’t miss the mouthed curse word directed straight at her.

God, if that body didn’t do her in, it was that attitude. Quinn had a thing for feisty ones.

“So this is probably our last jam.” Santana noted, glancing over her shoulder at the projected scoreboard. “Knock ‘em dead, Quinn.”

They met together on track as they had at the very start of the bout. The crowd were yelling and clapping and beating their feet on the ground, but Quinn was simply looking at Barbra. “Ready?” She asked, smirking.

Barbra rolled her eyes so hard Quinn feared she might have gotten lost staring at her brain, and then the jam started.

They both spent near a lap stuck in the pack, and then Barbra burst through.

Fuck.

Quinn pushed harder against the particularly difficult wall she was stuck in, finally wrenching her shoulder into a tiny gap and then throwing it around to make more room for her body to slide through. As soon as she had a chance, Quinn was racing off after Barbra - who was nearly back at the pack again.

Their score was near a tie. Quinn’s team, the blacks, were one mere point up. It was anyone’s game.

Quinn rounded the apex and spied Barbra coming upon the pack at the end of the straightaway.

They hit the turn as Barbra was about to break through and call it, pushing her team ahead four points for the victory - and then Quinn jumped the apex.

Which, to be fair, was her last ditch effort to make it through in time, and no one expected it to work - Quinn least of all.

But it did, because she was wobbly but upright and Barbra had just bought her hands to her hips to call it. The whistles started, as both jammer referees held up four points.

They’d both gotten a full four points.

However Quinn’s team had started the jam a whole point ahead.

And just like that, there was a long rising whistle and the entire game was over and they’d won.

The aftermath of the game was insanity - they all skated around and did their high-fives, then there were team photos to be taken, and everyone from different leagues was meeting and chatting and Quinn was being stopped every time she tried to leave. She was sweaty and tired but there was the afterparty to get to, so she’d need to gear down and maybe freshen up a little.

Quinn hadn’t seen Barbra since the bout ended. No lie, she was a little bummed by that. She’d been hoping to chat with the girl - see her without a mouthguard in and a violent look in her eyes.

With her skates and gear off, Quinn retreated to the nearest locker room to shower and dry shampoo and make herself somewhat respectable. All she had to change into was some coloured leggings and her team shirt, but better that than being drenched in the bodily fluids of her and thirty other women.

In the space of time between Quinn pulling her shirt over her head and her visibility returning, someone had entered the previously-deserted locker room.

Barbra.

“Good game out there.” Quinn greeted, and the girl spun on her heel to glare daggers at her.

Barbra practically stalked to where Quinn stood, sweaty shirt in hand.

Then she leaned up on her tiptoes, draped an arm over Quinn’s neck, and pulled her in for the most passionate kiss Quinn had ever experienced. There was so much fucking tension in it, their mouths competed as hard as they had out on the track. Were Barbra any taller, she might have been able to push down and take control but Quinn held that advantage. Quinn dropped her shirt to the ground, wrapping both arms around Barbra’s waist and holding her close - covering her in sweat.

“Yeah, you too.” Barbra said, pupils dilated. “But now you’ve got me all sweaty.”

“Guess I better fix that, huh?” Quinn asked, turning them around so Barbra was pressed up against the wall, hands sliding up under her shirt.

Barbra’s sports bra put up a valiant fight, but Quinn conquered it quickly (why did sports bras need to have strange clasps anyway?) and didn’t even bother removing it. Both hands slid up under the loose cups and ran over hard nipples. Quinn was sure Barbra would have moaned had Quinn let her remove her mouth, but she didn’t.

Between them Quinn could taste sweat and heat and desire and it was so _fucking_ hot.

“Tell me something though,” Quinn said, moving back to give Barbra some room. “Is Barbra your actual name?”

“What’s it to you?” Barbra responded smartly, concentrating on dipping her hand beneath Quinn’s waistband and successfully turning her legs to jelly - which surely the game before had helped with, but not as much as those fucking eyes. Come hither, indeed.

Quinn leaned in close to Barbra’s ear. “I need to know what to scream when I cum later.”

Barbra shivered against her. “It’s Rachel.”

“Quinn.”

“Right.” Rachel said, and that suited her more than Barbra - Barbra reminded Quinn of an older lady, not the brunette powerhouse who had a hand down her pants.

“Such a pleasure.” Quinn said, trying to maintain mouth contact and remove Rachel’s shirt at the same time. It didn’t work, but Quinn took a well-timed breather to minimise the time they spent apart from each other. “Now, how about a shower? I’m so fucking dirty after that game.”

“Rachel grabbed a handful of Quinn’s hair. “You are, I’m going to have to clean you off.”

And damned if that didn’t go straight to Quinn’s vagina.

“Oh, I look forward to it.”

They moved from the benches to a shower cubicle, kissing and grabbing and removing articles of clothing as they went. They finally made it into the stall, locked the door, and turned the shower on.

Rachel, apparently, was not the sort to waste time. She had Quinn against the wall beneath the shower head, one hand fisted in Quinn’s hair and the other rubbing the outside of her pussy. “What the fuck was with that apex jump?” Rachel asked, sliding in a finger, then another, right after one another.

It stretched Quinn delightfully so, meaning she was unable to ignore Rachel’s presence - and her answer to Rachel’s question was the beginnings of a word and then a low moan. “Fuck, Rachel, I just wanted to win.”

“So did I.” Rachel replied, inserting a third finger and moving them in and out, curved to brush Quinn’s g-spot just so. If there was no wall for stability, Quinn might have fallen. As it was, her knees buckled when Rachel sucked a patch of skin on her neck, teeth and tongue alternating biting and licking the instantly purpling bruise.

Quinn’s head rested against the tiled wall, her mind trying to catch up with how they’d gone from playing a game to fucking in, what, twenty minutes? Her arms finally decided to work again and Quinn lifted them, running them over Rachel’s damp body. She stopped over her nipples, those rock hard buds rolling delightfully between her pinching fingers. “You look so fucking good.”

“Now?” Rachel asked, lifting her head up, “or out there?”

“Both.” Quinn said, twisting both nipples at once. Rachel’s fingers actually ceased movement inside Quinn and her back arched. “I think you’d look better with your hair down, though.” Quinn reached back to undo the hair tie, and then undid Rachel’s tight braid.

Rachel let it happen, slowing her fingers until they moved almost gently within Quinn, the brunette’s palm brushing her clit with each movement. “You know what else would look good down?” Rachel asked, the same devious smirk on her face that Quinn had seen earlier, when she’d had a penalty and had to watch Rachel get too many five point passes.

Rachel didn’t need to say anything else - Quinn was helpless to ignore the very obvious suggestion. Quinn turned them both around and Rachel slid her fingers out, rubbing Quinn’s clit as they departed.

Then Quinn was down on her knees on the hard tile, drawing a finger reverently through the dark, tight hairs, and lower. The girl moaned above her, running Quinn’s wet hair through her hands over and over, head tipped back.

Quinn leaned in and licked, slowly at first, running her warm tongue over Rachel’s clit. The girl shuddered above her, hips moving towards Quinn’s mouth, and it made her smile. With careful fingers Quinn rearranged herself and Rachel until she had the perfect angle. She alternated movements: first lapping, then flicking with the tip of her tongue, and then sucking the sensitive nub of flesh into her mouth ever so gently.

With her face buried in groomed, brunette curls, Quinn couldn’t see Rachel’s expression, but she could certainly hear how she felt. Rachel, who had seemed rather quiet on the track, was moaning and cussing as if there was no one within a five mile radius of them. Rather than being a turn-off, as Quinn sometimes found, it was the exact opposite.

As Quinn found her rhythm, Rachel rediscovered coherent speech.”Touch yourself.” She commanded, breathy.

Quinn dropped one of her hands from where they’d both settled on Rachel’s hips, letting it drop between her legs.

“Yes?” Quinn asked, drawing a finger back and forth over her own clit as she mimicked the movement with her tongue on Rachel.

“I want you-” Rachel paused to drag in a heavy breath, “I want you to finger yourself.”

Quinn pulled back a little, leaving Rachel standing there alone. She spread her legs a little, knees in front of her and feet joined beneath her. She kept her eyes locked with Rachel’s as she slid a finger in, and then another, thrusting down on them slightly.

Rachel looked more pulled apart now than should be legal. Her hair was a mess - half-wet, half-dry, sticking up and down in various spots. Her eyes were hooded, trained on the fingers sliding in and out of Quinn. She licked her lips and swallowed, her own fingers wandering down to press against her own entrance.

“Use another finger.” Rachel commanded and Quinn did just that, struggling to maintain a steady pace. She could feel herself rapidly approaching climax. Normally Quinn lasted much longer, but these were special circumstances. There was the fear of getting caught balanced by the exhilaration of being told what to do by a girl she’d only just met.

Perhaps what Quinn was doing was enough for Rachel - or that fact that the girl was buried knuckle-deep herself now. Quinn didn't have time to dwell on that thought, as she watched Rachel fingering herself and moan in a way that she could not describe. Decadent, luscious - like a weekend spent with too much expensive wine and chocolate. _Indulgent_. They painted a strange scene: Rachel against the wall, Quinn splayed on the floor, the shower blasting now-cold water over both of them and doing nothing to dampen the intensity between them.

Quinn came first. She was rubbing herself in a way so familiar, but behind it was the momentum Rachel provided. The moment was heralded by a sharp intake of breath, and then a slow, delayed exhale.

Despite the fact that her legs felt completely incapable of movement, Quinn got to her feet. To disguise her rather inelegant stumble, she put an arm against the tiled wall above Rachel’s head and leaned in close to her. Her eyes were all black and wide, breath coming out in little gasps.

Quinn took her fingers and ran them along Rachel’s damp cheekbone, sliding them over her lips.

“Fuck!” Rachel cried, licking her lips and there’s no way she didn’t taste Quinn in that moment.

Rachel came with a high-pitched noise and Quinn nuzzling into her neck, leaving tiny bruises there. They'd blend in just fine with the bruises both of them had attained during the game anyway.

Intertwined, they took a moment, basking in both the individual pleasure and the shared warmth.

“So,” Quinn started, before taking a moment to breathe and calm her voice, “coming to the after party?”

Rachel smirked, picking up the soap and lathering her hands. “Of course. Now I’m obliged to win the after party.”


End file.
